The Storm
by Qindarka
Summary: John and Pietro sit out more than unsightly weather. SLASH john/pietro--pyro/quicksilver


**Once upon a time, I was having writer's block and tried out a fanfic meme. It was one of those ones where you stick your music player on shuffle and write short stories about ten songs that pop up, but you only have the duration of the song to write them. The first thing that came on was "Get Lucky" by Dragonette and then.. I about stopped right there with the meme and realized that there was no way I was just going to be able to write something inspired by the song in the time span **_**of**_** the song. I instead devoted a lot of time I could've been sleeping to make something stupidly sweet, and this is the product.**

**It's suuuper fluffy I think or hope, since that's what I was going for, but I don't know how conducive fluff is to the in-characterness of these two, let alone them as a pairing. I tried to throw in shit that I hope kept them at least marginally in character, but idk. Honestly, I really think that if Pietro and John got into a fight they would more likely deal with it through ANGRY and/or MAKE-UP sex, instead of... what ends up happening. OH WELL, I tried.**

**If you can feel the sheer love radiating between the two, that's actually me channeling how much I friggin adore this pairing and find it adorable beyond comprehension )8**

Toad's shoulders slumped considerably and a groan wriggled its way out beyond his lips. It was raining. Perfect.

It wasn't a violent sort of rain, though, which Toad noted with some small ounce of condolence--or so he forced himself to see so optimistically, considering that no matter how hard it rained or didn't, he'd have to venture out into the weather anyway. Still, he could recall times when their sad mess of a boardinghouse was forced to stand up to fiercer weather, the kind that howled and made the whole structure shake and threaten to collapse, the kind where the roof leaked in floods and the power would go out. Not that their house was really in any better shape during _normal_ weather, but it could be worse.

So it wasn't brutal. But it was at least heavy, and it wasn't showing signs of stopping. With every droplet hitting the roof, the sound reverberating throughout the house was something akin to a thousand pebbles littering the shingles and rolling clumsily into the rusty drainpipes. At each plunk, Toad visibly cringed.

Absentmindedly shoveling remnants of greasy paper plates, banana peels, and soda cans into a hefty trash bag that was already threatening to tear open, he nervously eyed the window nearest him, the one above the sink. The dense coat of condensation fogging the glass was dotted with the spots of water pelting it, each dragging lazily across its surface with the gravity of their individual weight. It was pouring in sheets outside, turning the world a murky gray, and the field of dark clouds above didn't look to have a tail end nearby.

Squinting, Toad could just barely catch a glimpse of the garbage can out there, gleaming silver in the gray haze about a couple of yards from the front door. That was his destination, and as he saw it, he only had to cross what looked like the Pacific Ocean in order to get to it, though that may have been an exaggeration.

He sighed as noisily as possible, as if maybe someone in the house would hear him and possibly take the chore off his hands, perhaps offer some help, hold his umbrella for him. That was of course a futile effort; those jerks put him up to this in the first place. He didn't even know if they owned an umbrella at all, let alone one that wasn't full of holes. Receiving nothing in response (not even the usual insult), he heaved the bulging bag onto his back, groaning as he did, and staggered clumsily toward the door.

"This ain't fair, yo," he mumbled to himself, somehow managing to wrench the door open as he balanced his load on his back. He immediately braced himself against an onslaught of rain, and yet was unable to prevent what must have been a bucketful of water aimed right at his entire self. Squealing involuntarily and allowing his bag to slip from his fingers in order to shield himself, he was later relieved to find the trash bag had plopped onto the stoop miraculously still in tact.

Having barely stepped out of the door and _already_ finding himself drenched, Toad really couldn't see a point in bothering to be delicate with the matter of taking out the garbage any longer. Reasoning that it would have happened eventually so why not sooner than later, he bent to grab the bag with the intention of dragging it through the mud with the least amount of effort possible, rather than having it sit on his back through the whole event.

A slight movement in the corner of his peripherals, however, caused him to freeze midway through the action.

Cautiously yet casually, he cast a shy glance sideways and managed to catch the bit of bright orange hair disappearing within the tall, round bush growing beneath the bay window attached to the living room. Toad blinked, his task, as well as the rain, completely forgotten when he hopped off the front step to allow himself a better look. He peered curiously at the bush's front, craning his body as he did so.

Months ago, a very unfortunate incident involving Wanda, her undergarments, and Toad himself occurred here in the front yard. This large bush received the brunt of the Wanda's rage (which had originally been intended for Toad), resulting in her blasting a decent-sized cave-like hole in the leaves and branches that never grew back. It was sizable enough, Toad now discovered, to fit a sitting adult man and deep enough to provide shelter from the rain. Here he found John Allerdyce, head bowed and leaning on his bent knees to poke carelessly at the soggy dirty with his right index finger.

"Um... havin' fun down there?" Toad asked offhandedly.

The immediate response from the young man was nothing short of a mumble, perhaps not really intended for Toad to hear. In any case, before Toad had a chance to inquire further, John's head raised upward slowly, and Toad stared uneasily when he found him beaming and acting as if he hadn't said anything at all. "Yeah, actually, it's loads better than where you are." He gave a small wave. "G'day, by the way!"

To be quite honest, Toad found Pyro really weird (which was a lot to be said of someone who was rather odd himself), and tried to interact with him as little as possible while he was at the boarding house. The guy was way too cheerful when he didn't need to be or when it was most frightening that he be so, smiling at this and smirking at that. It was unnerving, and usually resulted in him doing something unpredictable, like setting things on fire or tripping you down the stairs. It was downright borderline insanity. So Toad wasn't exceptionally surprised to see the guy smiling up at him as he sat under a bush outside his house in the middle of the worst possible weather, but was anxious all the same. At least John wasn't cackling. That was _always_ worse.

"Not that I care or nothin'--" Toad really didn't, at least not about John's health; seeing him out here just made him uncomfortable, "--but what exactly are you doing?"

John continued to glow like what he was about to say was some great honor, and admitted quite simply, "Why, I got kicked out."

That was interesting. Toad raised an eyebrow. "By who?"

John's smile turned to a devious little smirk, as if he were partaking in some inside joke.

"The boss," he said, and it actually _was_ something of an inside joke in a way, and Toad understood immediately. However, though the _entire_ Brotherhood enjoyed mocking Pietro's abuse of power behind his back, John was the only one who called him this in a way that was meant to be cute, as well as the only one who called him that to his face.

"He kicked _you_ out?"

John nodded eagerly.

Toad moved to lean back against the mailbox, the wet metal momentarily cold against his back. "What, you two have a fight or somethin'?"

"Sure did!"

Forced to become accustom to John's giddy and creepy, albeit genuine, smiles all the damn time made it easier for Toad to recognize the imposters, and this one John wore now was definitely one of those. The fact that it was starkly bigger than before he had spoken nowhere near indicated an inflated sense of delight. On the contrary, it looked noticeably more vacant, half-hearted even.

Drops of rain seeped through the bush and hit John's forehead, making long trails across his face until they hung delicately off that same empty smile. He appeared not to be aware of them, and Toad had to keep talking to keep this from getting any more awkward than it needed to.

"Yo, no offense, but when Pietro kicks you out, it don't just mean 'get out of the house', it kind of means 'go home'."

"Oy, I know that, I'm not _stupid_," John jumped to respond, seeming to have an answer prepared. "But as you may or may not be able to tell--" He sized up Toad's very soaked figure and snorted briefly before continuing, "--it's raining. A lot. And, well, I don't have a lot of places to go, now do I? I don't know about you, but walking around aimlessly in…all _this_ doesn't sound like a jolly good time, so I figure, why not wait it out right here? I'm not in his way, he probably doesn't even know I'm here, so he shouldn't have a problem. Reasonable enough for you?"

Not seeing a reason to argue, Toad picked up on the mention of the rain and was brought back to his current situation, remembering why he was out here in the first place. He peered around wildly for his garbage bag, and found it, to his utmost horror, being flooded with water from the small opening at the top. Leaping for it, he grabbed it roughly with both hands and was forced to drag it toward the can as hastily as he could. It had gained weight in the last few minutes, he realized, but he was somehow able to haul it over there and fling it over his shoulders into the trash can, almost falling over as he did.

John snickered as he watched the whole thing, even as Toad made his way back, and the other chose to ignore this because John finding amusement in his misfortunes was nothing new.

"So," he said, returning to his previous spot. "What'd you fight about?" It came out as sounding casual, but he'd really been waiting the entire time to get right to it and had jumped at the opportunity. Truthfully, he'd actually known the two had been fighting, even before he'd left the house; it was hard to ignore, the walls of their house were paper-thin, though it all just sounded like a bunch of muffled shouting. Wanda didn't care, but he, Fred, and Lance had simply chosen to not mention it to each other, despite all being naturally curious. Especially Toad.

Unfortunately for him, it seemed the answer would not come that easily, for, this time, John didn't respond. He was no longer grinning like he had been earlier, either, the smile shrinking substantially, and he faced the dirt again, drawing shapes in it and coating his whole finger in mud. Toad watched him with a shred of patience before realizing that he would not get a proper response, clearly having breached his personal boundaries. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

"That bad, huh? Bites." As John continued to be unresponsive, Toad tried a different approach, hoping to get some more juicy details out, though he was not any more tactful this time than the first. "You break up?"

John's finger had halted in its tracing and he shot a glance upward, first looking utterly confused then almost offended as his brows furrowed in Toad's direction. "Break up...? What're you babbling about?"

Despite having finally triggered a reaction from John, it wasn't exactly the kind Toad was aiming for. He shrugged all the same, trying to pass off the comment as nothing and hoping he hadn't touched a sore nerve. "Usually that sort of thing ends up happenin', I don't know..."

"Look, mate, get your facts right: there's nothing _to_ break up."

Now it was Toad's turn to frown. He wasn't sure he understood that correctly.

"...You gotta be kiddin' me."

John apparently wasn't.

"Oh come on, I had to walk around with my eyes closed just so I wouldn't accidentally see you guys makin' out. Don't tell me I _dreamed _all that."

John went back to his dirt, retracing the circle he'd been making. "You wouldn't understand."

"Yeah, well," Toad started, feeling slightly insulted, "at least I'm not the one out here in the rain!" There was a beat of silence in which both of them seemed to be thinking about how false Toad's statement was. He reddened slightly, quickly struggling to conjure a smart enough quip that might save himself from his previous remark.

"It's not so bad," John chuckled softly before Toad could manage anything, strangely benevolent enough not to mock Toad for his earlier sentiment. "It'll be over soon, I reckon."

Toad scoffed like he hadn't said something dumb about ten seconds ago. "Yeah right, bro, good luck with that." Striding toward the door, he pushed it open, stomped inside, and slammed it shut behind him, secretly pleased to have gotten in the last word.

The sounds of the television, as well as Fred's accompanying guffawing, met him from the doorway of the living room. Lance was probably in there, too, since under sunnier weather conditions he'd be outside messing around with his jeep; that not being the case, there wasn't a whole lot _else_ to do around here. Toad, already forgetting his conversation with John, resolved to join them, wiggling off excess water like a dog would before attempting to hop off in that direction.

"Ay, ay, ay shoes _off_, Toad!" Pietro snapped, suddenly before him. Everyone had gotten used to Pietro just _appearing_ like that long ago, but it still occasionally threw a couple of them off. Like Toad, who almost stumbled backward in surprise. By the looks of it, Pietro had been in the living room too and waiting on the alert like some guard dog ready to scold his house mates at any moment. As Toad struggled to tug off his shoes, Pietro took a fleeting glance at the rest of him. "Oh, _gross. _You're soaking! What were you doing, _standing _out there for ten minutes?"

Toad glared, sticking out his tongue, and Pietro sighed, as if dealing with a child. He was gone again in the next second and back just as quickly, a few small towels tucked into the crook of his elbow.

"Look, Toad," he said, moving as if to place a hand on Toad's damp shoulder but hesitating and changing his mind. Instead, he dumped all the towels in Toad's arms. "This is just like what I told you about your _room_ and your _hygiene habits_: some things are more counter-productive towards our goal of the house being less of a dump and more semi-decent. Okay, this?" He gestured wildly at Toad's person. "This is one of those things. You want the house to be _presentable_, don't you?"

Toad's tongue shot out and grabbed a fly buzzing by Pietro's head. Pietro shuddered. "Don't answer that. You take _all_ the trash out?"

"Yes, _sir_," Toad mumbled, mockingly saluting.

"Good boy." Pietro smiled, clearly pleased. "Hey, if you dry fast enough you can probably catch the end of our movie. It's _hilarious_, though Lance doesn't really think so, but then again when does he ever find _anything_ funny, am I right?" His words tumbled out of mouth so rapidly that if Toad hadn't lived with him for the last few years, he wouldn't have understood a word. Whether or not Toad understood him or even agreed was irrelevant to Pietro anyway, the point being that he get down on the floor and start towel drying himself, which is what he proceeded to do.

"You know," Toad started conversationally as Pietro began to depart, "I wouldn't be _so_ wet if I hadn't been chattin' it up with your _boyfriend_ outside for like fifteen minutes." He began rubbing roughly at his face with one of the hand towels, and when he peeked up again a moment later, he found Pietro frozen in the position he'd been in when Toad started talking, his back to him.

Pietro pivoted slowly, donning an exceptionally incredulous expression. "My... my _what?_"

_"_Pyro," Toad said, now nonchalantly poking at his ears with the same towel.

"Hey! He's _not_ my--"After a moment of dead silence, Pietro looked to be temporarily conflicted, as if fully processing what Toad said. "Wait, he's _still here?_ I told him to _LEAVE_."

"See, that's what I thought."

"What an idiot," Pietro growled crossly. He folded his arms over his chest. "_You_ tell him to get out of here!"

"Well, I tried _hinting_ that maybe that'd be a good idea, but, y'know technically, he's not really _here_." Toad scratched at his head. "He's just kind of sitting outside, and he seemed okay with it, so who cares?"

"_I _care, moron, _I_ know he's still here and that's going to--" Pietro was noticeably agitated so, though his mind naturally worked faster than his ability to process words, he was speaking more rapidly than usual; here he seemed to have hit a road block, however, as he had stopped instantly, his eyes suddenly flooding with alarm. "...He's just sitting outside?" He sped to the nearest window, peering out of it. "Doesn't he know it's _raining_?"

"I'd assume so, since, I don't know, he's _out there_ and everything."

It didn't seem like Pietro heard this, or had ever intended to receive a response; in any case, he appeared much too preoccupied to care about Toad's sarcasm. He proceeded to gape hurriedly out the window, rubbing at the fogged glass with his shirt sleeve before pressing so close to it that his nose was touching it. In a blur, he was gone again, but this time at another window, in one of the other rooms, repeating his action from before. Toad watched him run from window to window, peeking out of each one with the same studious determination, before he had made it back to the foyer.

Noticing Pietro wasn't going to say anything, though still seemingly anxious, Toad finally offered, "He's in the bush, if you're looking for him."

Blinking furiously with indignation, Pietro looked between Toad and the front door, wrought with indecision. A long moment passed before he ground out an exhausted sigh and mumbled once more, "...What an idiot..." Before he allowed himself to change his mind, he sped past Toad and shot out the door.

John hadn't had time to register that the door had opened at all in order to react promptly enough for the person who exited, but his head soon tilted upward expectantly to catch a glimpse at whoever had left the house. Pietro now stood before him, dry for a very brief second after zipping out of the house before the rain began to catch up to him. He very much resembled an angry child at the moment, arms crossed and face set in a deep, pouty frown, seething silently down at the man opposite him. John, his expression having been quite stoic before any of this had happened, promptly responded accordingly, with a very devious little smile, eyes twinkling as he did, like he had done something wrong and was wriggling to get out of punishment. The call and answer between their exchange of looks was almost habitual.

Their eyes had met instantly the moment they were both in the same vicinity, and something surged painfully inside them both when this happened, causing them to lose much of the vigor in their individual expressions. Not breaking the gaze, however, John leaned forward on his knees, his head resting on his left hand and his left elbow balanced on his knee, and patted the spot of dirt next to him coaxingly with his right hand.

Almost believing that to give in would be defeat, like some unspoken staring contest, Pietro didn't react right away. However, with a noticeably annoyed roll of the eyes, he resolved that John always _had_ been formidable, even when they really _were_ having staring contests, and soon found himself tucked away under the hedge's makeshift awning, legs pulled to himself, and a nice distance between him and John. He tucked an imaginary strand of hair behind his ear nervously, feeling John's eyes on him. A tense quiet settled, and it lasted for a very long time before either of them said anything. Pietro ended up being the first to speak, though he spoke more to his foot than to John.

"You hate rain."

"Yup!" John was quick to respond, unable to mask the eagerness in his tone. "It makes it very hard for me to burn down your house when I'm feeling exceptionally bitter."

"And anyone else would think that was a joke," Pietro said through a crooked smirk. "But since I know it isn't, that just makes you a vindictive psychopathic little bitch, doesn't it?"

"Mmm, you bring out the best in me." John grinned, wide, almost _loudly_ in Pietro's direction, who made the mistake of looking at him at the same moment. Seeing that huge smile on his face, the kind that dimpled his cheeks and scrunched up the corners of his eyes and the bridge of his nose, caused Pietro's stomach to twist into a knot so delightfully uncomfortable that a whine made it's way out of his mouth before he clamped his hand over it.

He had forgotten what a godforsaken _kryptonite_ that stupid, stupid _smile_ was to him. To make matters worse, he realized with a small ounce of horror that the persistent thumping in his ears was the sound of his _own_ heart beating, thunderous and fast, and he knew John could hear it, too. This made John grin wider, if that were possible, and knowingly, and the only way for Pietro to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest at this point was to stare intently at the ground.

Daring to peer out the corner of his eye, Pietro observed John had (wisely) chosen not to comment on what occurred just now, instead poking at the dirt with his finger. Observing how filthy the other's whole hand already was distracted Pietro enough so that his heart rate slowed instantaneously.

"Oy, you know what that Toad bloke said to me while he was out here?" John started, attempting to sound casual.

Pietro wasn't listening anymore, however. He leaned forward, inspecting those fingers scrutinizingly, and John was smart enough not to continue. "Were you playing in the dirt?"

John looked down too. From Pietro's angle, he's sure all he could see was his mud-caked hand, the dirt collecting under his fingernails, how dark they had become. From his angle, he could only see the patterns he had subconsciously made in the dirt, circles and squares, sail boats and balls of fire, little stick figures surrounded by hearts and doing things so sickeningly sweet that he hoped only he could discern whose likenesses they resembled. "Yeah, so?"

They'd been too quick (as usual) for John's eyes to follow them before he understood anything had happened: both of Pietro's hands had snatched his single soiled one and held it, the boy stretching out his body slightly as he did so, just out from under the awning of leaves into the rain. In order to maneuver this properly, Pietro's left arm had needed to sneak under John's right arm so that he was now forced to sit significantly closer. He held the dirt-covered hand between both his own, all the while exposing it to the rain as he forcibly massaged it with his thumbs; he even took special care to run his nails beneath John's, and didn't leave a single area untouched.

"What'd Toad say?" Pietro suddenly asked, though very offhandedly. His eyes were very focused on his task, like it was his job, so he was completely unaware of what it was doing to the person beside him, unaware of how hard it would be to make conversation now.

John, with almost as much pride as the boy beside him, did attempt to rebel against his natural desire to react, to maintain a straight face. Watching Pietro's thumbs caressing smoothly along the lines of his palms, feeling them rub deftly against the length of his fingers, all with such devout attention to such a simple task, however...was enough to make him melt.

"He said...uh..." Each touch sent individual jolts of electric fire surging through him, and his breathing became noticeably shallow. "He thought we were..." What blew his cover, unfortunately and most ironically enough, was the same organ that had betrayed Pietro not a moment ago. John perceived how uncomfortably _beautiful_ that must have felt for the boy beside him as the thing thumped and pounded against his ribs with such _need_, and he couldn't have silenced it even if he had to.

The movement upon his hands froze almost at once. He watched Pietro, oh so close to him, motionless and listening, too.

Then John watched as a smile slid its way onto Pietro's face. It wasn't one of his usual smiles, either, not one of those devilish little smirks or those mocking grins. It was somewhere between playful and purely _happy_, something to mirror the one John had wore earlier. He didn't smile like that often _enough_, John decided as he stared at it, transfixed, and already began formulating plans to make it show up more frequently.

John's hand was sufficiently clean, at least enough to please Pietro, because he soon drew it back beneath the protection of the bush. To John's visible disappointment, Pietro, who John was now allowing complete control over what his hand would be doing, placed said hand firmly upon John's knee and drew his own back to himself. The adorable smile from before now gone, Pietro gave him a very familiar, very sardonic look, as if to say, '_what, you wanted me to shove it down my pants? Dream on.'_

"What did Toad say?" Pietro asked again, watching John with some slight amusement as he began rubbing his hand against his pants to dry it.

In spite of how he had felt a second ago, John, remembering what he had been talking about, grinned gleefully. "He asked if we broke up. Like we were _dating_."

Pietro let out a short, dry bark of a laugh. "No way! Know what he said to me? Said you were my _boyfriend_."

They both cracked up at that one, their voices sounding like the snickering of two very young boys.

"Guess you can't really blame the guy," Pietro managed to say as their laughter subsided, though John continued to let out the occasional uncontrollable giggle. "That's _traditionally_ what you'd call us."

"Yeah, but... can you imagine? _Boyfriends?_" John snickered again. "Boyfriends! To describe the pair of us. Makes us sound like a couple'a tweens necking behind the bleachers or something."

"Hey, don't knock it, man, it's not like we wouldn't try that. During school hours, too. Preferably during track-and-field practice..."

"And that's going straight onto the To-Do List, but the point is--"

"Um, hello, you know I can't stand the word, either," Pietro said hastily. "I don't know what it is about it, it just sounds so... so--"

"Temporary?" John helped, smiling gently.

The shot of emotion that seared through Pietro at the word was enough to force him to clutch at his knees for support, and he averted his eyes in that direction as well. He swallowed hard, face _burning_ and his toes curling inside his shoes. "Yeah. Exactly." His voice had gotten weaker, but considerably more thoughtful. He didn't want to call this feeling what he thought it was, but _god_ it felt so painfully good.

Oblivious as he was, John did at least hear the strength leave Pietro's voice and nudged him with his shoulder, laughing boisterously. "Oy, that was bloody _romantic _what I said right there, wasn't it? I think I deserve a medal for that. Christ, I should write this shit down." He began laughing to himself again, even thinking what he said right _there_ was clever, but the noise was shut down swiftly as he felt a sudden weight on his arm.

Quick as always, Pietro had sidled up closer to John while he had been speaking so that he didn't realize what was happening until it happened. They were hip to hip now, and without warning, Pietro had leaned in closer still, slipping his hand under John's arm again to find John's now very dry hand and nimbly intertwine their fingers. With his other arm, he clutched John's bicep and, to John's utmost delight, he found younger boy's head now pressed yearningly against his shoulder. John had to suppress a laugh when he carefully glanced down and saw Pietro frowning and blushing, looking highly embarrassed and annoyed against him as if it had taken every ounce of will to do what he just did. It took every ounce of _John's_ will not to make a sound about it.

"I...The weather looks like it'll clear up," Pietro muttered, still looking bashful despite the topic of his speech and hoping to further distract the boy he was clinging to from saying anything about their current position.

John nodded, not knowing what else to say.

It took a moment for Pietro speak again, as if he were thinking very hard about it, but this time it was more solemn and very gentle. "We've got a good thing going, I think."

Once more, John nodded in agreement.

They sat like that for a long time, relishing the _emotion_ radiating between their two bodies as the rain still came down heavily around them, and despite what they had both agreed upon, it didn't look like it was lessening.

Without warning, John felt Pietro stirring on his arm and the boy sat up in a hurry. John glanced at him with concern as Pietro began furiously wiping the left side of his face with his sleeve, looking irate and disgusted.

"Allerdyce! Jesus, you're freaking _wet_, did you know that?!" He threw John an accusing, angry look.

"Well I've been out here at least an hour!"

"So?! You could've warned me before I started _rubbing_ myself all over you!" The speed at which he wiped at his face was enough to dry it for his own liking, but that didn't change the fact that the person he wanted to be touching right now was soaked. He leaped to his feet and disappeared in a blur, returning a second later with another towel. He threw it at John's face. "Dry yourself!"

John snatched it from his face, giving Pietro an exasperated look, and resolved to simply dab at his cheeks. He did this as slowly and aggravatingly as he could, hoping to annoy Pietro, who was glaring so hard his face had started reddening.

"Oh, yes, by all means, take your sweet time, asshole," Pietro grumbled.

"You're a right impatient bastard, you know that?" which of course John admitted condescendingly, as he had known that fact quite well the minute he'd met the boy. The looks he was receiving were none too comforting, however, so he spoke again, offering something less patronizing. "This'd go a lot faster if you helped me, wouldn't it? I'm not as quick as _you_, sheila." His last word came out accompanied by a very crooked little smirk that he really had no control over making; it had definitely earned him the reaction he wanted, as Pietro was now seething.

"No, you're not." The towel was out of John's hand and in Pietro's before he recognized the exchange had taken place. Taking John's words as some sort of challenge, Pietro, now clutching John's chin in one hand, muttered, "Call me that again and I'll strangle you," before he began grinding the towel across John's neck and jaw line much rougher and quicker (and less sensually) than John had hoped or anticipated. All areas of skin above John's shoulder were completely dry, if not _raw_ as John painfully noted, in about three seconds.

It was then that Pietro's hand and the towel inched toward John's sopping mass of hair. He hung the cloth generously on John's hair, moving forward to allow both his hands access to the back of John's neck, where he started the drying ritual as the base of his hairline there. Pietro had made it to the back of John's head when he finally glanced upward at John's face under the towel, and, removing his hands to steady himself against the dirt now, Pietro noticed several things in this moment: one, he was much shorter than John than he had ever comprehended before, two, John's eyes were blue as all hell, and three, there was a droplet of water, trickling off John's skull, that was now cascading lightly down his face to where it rolled over his top lip and stopped, quivering, on his bottom one.

Noticing Pietro's hands had ceased their movement, John peered down at him in the same moment that he had looked up and saw Pietro's eyes fixated on that droplet of water. He had noticed it inch across his face and been planning to move his lips, rid himself of the slight annoyance, but Pietro, as always, was much quicker.

Pietro craned his neck upward, ducked his head under the towel, allowed his eyes to flutter half-shut, and kissed John so chastely on his bottom lip that he more caught the droplet on his own lips than touched him.

When Pietro drew back gently, it appeared they had both been holding their breath: they exhaled simultaneously and shakily, their breath mingling in the small space between them that Pietro had allowed when he parted. For a while, they held one another's gaze tentatively, neither sure what to do.

Then...Pietro laughed. Quietly and mischievously, like he had been struggling to hold it in, and the movement closed the hair's-width gap between their pairs of lips. Pietro's laughter made John laugh, too, for it was insanely adorable and John would've laughed anyway, like he always did, and their lips brushed more. Between giggles they kissed gently, and against each other's mouths they giggled. John's hand found Pietro's against the ground, and when there was a break in the laughter, he pressed their noses together.

"I can't for the life of me remember what the hell I'm doing out here," he said, smile tugging at the corners with the desire to laugh again.

"Don't give me another reason to make it happen again, and it doesn't matter," Pietro spoke, biting down on the corners of his bottom lip to keep from laughing himself.

It was then that, outside, the sound of the rain had went from roaring to a gentle trickle. The two of them chose to glance outward and found that while the sky was still cloudy, the occasional drops of rain were spaced out in long seconds apart. It had subsided substantially, and they hadn't noticed until now.

"Look at that!" John exclaimed with excitement, attention momentarily stolen. "We got lucky, didn't we?"

Pietro shot him a sly sideways glance, his mind on things other than the weather. "More than you think, baby."

Tugging John along by loosely entwined fingers, Pietro pulled them both to their feet and led the way to the front door. Upon pushing it open, he found Toad still sitting in front of it, struggling with much difficulty to dry off the rest of his body. Pietro, with John in tow, slid around Toad, leading him to the staircase. Every step from the taller man dripped puddles of water into the carpet, and Toad, gaping from his spot on the floor, saw them all.

"So, John's back in then, huh?" Toad called after them, feeling slightly peeved that he was still forced to sit here drying while the absolutely _soaking_ man in question got to roam around freely.

"Never left, mate," John managed to respond, struggling to keep up as Pietro tugged him impatiently toward the general direction of his room. "I was just sitting out the storm."


End file.
